I spin on my heel and exit the tent. Sure enough, about half of my commanders are standing outside, and none of them appear pleased that I kept them waiting. I draw myself up taller and summon an aura of power and violence that causes each of them to take several steps back. Commander Marss even lowers his head briefly.
“What news do you bring, commanders?” I ask, my gaze sweeping around the area. The nearest tents are far enough away that I won’t need to erect a soundproof bubble to keep others from overhearing our conversation.
“There’s been trouble in Sorsston,” Commander Klemat says. “Warden Xall, as well as over twenty Summer Court soldiers, perished during an evening meal. Poison is suspected, though thus far, the servants in the castle aren’t being very forthcoming. Somehow, even when glamoured, the servants don’t confess the truth. They simply remain silent with a vacant expression.”
It takes a lot to shock me, but this news does. I strive to maintain an impassive expression, however, as I contemplate the gravity of the situation.
The human servants, or whoever was involved in the deaths of Warden Xall and over twenty Summer Court soldiers, will face a grim fate. Torture, and eventually, a slow and painful execution. Their heads will remain on the parapet at Sorsston as a warning to others long after the crows have finished picking at their eyes.
Sorsston. Gods, am I really about to lead the Summer Court army back to Sorsston? It would appear so. But my resolve wavers a bit as I think about Amelia. How will she react to being brought back to her home city?
Fuck, I can’t let her know about the servants in the castle and their probable involvement in the deaths of Warden Xall and the twenty-plus soldiers. I’m not certain how long she worked in the castle, but if she counts some of her fellow servants as friends, she will likely be devastated by this recent development.
I clear my throat, draw myself up taller, and stare at the commanders. “Prepare a contingent of fifty highborn fae to descend on the Sorsston castle as quickly as they can fly. Commander Groff, you will lead this contingent. Secure the castle, imprison every castle servant, and return the city to lockdown. No one comes in, and no one goes out.”
“Understood, General Dalgaard,” Commander Groff says, and the other commanders soon voice their agreement.
“Despite the loss of over twenty Summer Court soldiers, there should be about eighty soldiers left in Sorsston. The highborn contingent can also help reinforce their patrols and help keep the human occupants of the city in line.” I glance to the north. “The Winter Court army is currently razing the northern orc villages that recently attacked fae settlements, and with the Autumn Court army moving in from the west, and the Spring Court army moving in from the east, I believe we should focus more on protecting the southern fae settlements near Sorsston and even farther south. Therefore, the Summer Court army will set out for Sorsston early tomorrow morning, and we should arrive at that godsblasted human city within four days.”
The commanders murmur their approval of my plan. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I led the army south again. Though we’re not at war with the other fae courts, we’re not exactly at peace with them either, and King Haratt has ordered me to avoid conflict with the Spring, Autumn, and Winter courts at all costs. Though I lament the deaths of Warden Xall and the twenty-plus soldiers in Sorsston, perhapsthis occurrence is a sign from the gods that it’s time to leave the human and orc territories near the Warrlish Mountains.
I issue a few final orders, and then I dismiss the commanders.
I turn and face my tent, and my heart skips a beat knowing Amelia is waiting inside. The beautiful female who might very well be my fated mate. My little war prize.
Will she ever forgive me for holding her captive?
Can I make her fall in love with me?
In theory, if she’s truly my fated mate, she’ll also feel intensely drawn to me, just as I’m drawn to her. But I worry the suffering she experienced at Lord Nevel’s hands might be obscuring any attraction she might otherwise feel toward me. More than once, she’s flinched from my touch.
I inhale a deep breath and step inside the tent only to find Amelia is sound asleep on the sofa, curled up beneath the blanket I’d draped around her shoulders earlier. An utterly tranquil expression covers her visage, and my chest tightens with emotion at the sight of her sleeping so peacefully. I send her waves of summer warmth infused with lavender, hoping it’ll make her slumber even more restful.
After watching her for several minutes, I use my magic to darken the tent and summon tiny flashing orbs reminiscent of fireflies. I also beckon the sounds of a summer night—locusts, crickets, and trilling frogs.
Please gods, let her dreams remain pleasant.
Knowing I’m expected to make preparations for the impending departure of the Summer Court army, I spin on my heel and depart the tent.
CHAPTER 9
AMELIA
I awaketo the sounds of nighttime insects. Warmth envelops me, and I snuggle deeper in the soft blanket, half-wondering where it came from. I don’t recall having a blanket this soft and warm at the Glenville Inn.
Is the window open? Hm. For the song of the nighttime insects and trilling frogs to be so loud, I must’ve left the window open.
My eyes feel so heavy, it’s a struggle to open them, but I eventually rouse to full wakefulness and sit up… on a plush sofa inside a massive tent.
Oh, my gods.
Memories sweep over me, returning with a vengeance that leaves me gasping for breath. I peer around the tent, shocked by the atmosphere that buzzes with magic. I’m not certain whether it’s really night, but there are firefliesinsidethe tent, or rather, little flashing orbs that mimic their radiant dance through the night. The tent is dark but not so dark that I can’t make out the large bed and other furniture.
The general isn’t here.
Tristan. My face heats as his given name reverberates inside my head, and for a reason I can’t fathom, I find myself yearning to utter his name aloud.
“Tristan,” I whisper, unable to quell the urge. “Tristan.”
